Corporate Greed
by MissNemisisFace
Summary: 1972 Special meets 2012 Film Once-ler and worlds collide. Rated for language and violence. I know it sounds like I dislike the movie from the sound of it, but that actually couldn't be further from the truth. I know I'm probably going to catch hate for this, and I don't care.


The Once-ler finds himself in a dingy, but clearly hand-drawn world. He casts about and finds a much larger, but far more cartoonish version of his factory. It doesn't really look like it, but somehow, he knows that's what it is. He uses a stump of a Truffula tree to stand. A strange sensation fills his hand; like static electricity and he looks down to see his hand "phasing" against this hand-drawn truffula tree. He, quickly, withdraws his hand, pulling it back to his chest.

"What the hell...?"

"Hey! Who are you? What are you doing?" His head snaps in the direction of the voice to see, what he supposed, was a human being standing there. It's features were almost completely obscured by "_smogulous smoke_". Other beings like this one join in, alerted by this one's cry. Though he can't see their face, if they even have one, he knows that this person is squinting at him as they say:

"He looks a lot like Mr. Once-ler, but something's wrong with him. What's that, up there? Why is he all...why does he look like that?"

"He's all bright-coloured, too."

"More than one colour, too."

"Heresy!"

"He's shiny, too. I'm not the only one who sees that, right? He's shiny."

"We should take him to Mr. Once-ler. He might know who he is." He starts to back away from these beings, his eyes locked on them. He can feel the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he scans the strange crowd. They are moving in on him, and he sees more joining. He trips over a stump, falling back. Before he can get up, two pairs of arms snatch him by _his_ arms.

He is thrown, forcefully, into an office that, while large and opulent, is also, obviously, hand drawn. His arms are bound, tightly, with a thneed. Another use. For a second, he phases and that static feeling bursts through him. He struggles to get up and sees a desk covered in curling wires connecting to machines he didn't recognize. There was a monitor on it, but he knew it wasn't a computer monitor. There was a rotary phone, too. He'd never seen one of those "_in real life_" before. At this desk was a tall, pink chair with a foot-rest, some sort of lever, and a single wheel at the bottom.

"Hey, kid." He hears a voice say from behind that chair. It was somewhat nasal  
and reminded him of a 1940's gangster, a little.

"Y-yes? Where am I? Who are you?" He hears the being in the chair laugh, loud and hearty. The chair turns to reveal a solid green body with the head completely enshrouded in cigar smoke. A pair of golden, glowing eyes peer out.

"That's cute, kid. I am you-or, rather, you are me."

"How the hell am I you? You aren't even human! Just a headless body and glowing eyes!" The being chuckles again and wheels towards him. A green-gloved arm takes him by the jaw and forces his blue eyes to look into its gold eyes. "Look at what they did to me when they made you." He breaks down, crying in terror.

"What the hell is going on? What the hell are you talking about?"

"We are both from a book. I was made in 1972. _I_ stick to what was drawn in the book. _You_, kid, were made in 2012. They changed us when they made you. They gave us a face. We didn't _need_ a face. Worst of all, you're a _pretty-boy_." He takes a draw from the cigar. "Look at you; big, blue eyes, silky black hair, peaches and cream skin. Ugh." He takes another draw from his cigar, and with the lower part of the eyes scrunching up-a "sneer" for this Once-ler, he presses the cigar against the bound Once-ler's left cheek. He screams and struggles. "Oh, shut up." He sobs, the tears stinging the burn on his cheek while the older him watches. After a moment or two, he collects himself enough to speak.

"Why are you so angry at me? I've done nothing to you."

"Oh, but you have. You're a _sex object_. Have you seen what's going on? People don't even watch the film for its message-which has become completely warped-they just watch it for _you_; for wank material." His tone changes a bit. "Also, thank you for that. Since I am you, that shit makes me feel a little uncomfortable and violated, too."

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't know..."

"It doesn't matter; you've ruined our image. You've destroyed what we are-what we are supposed to be, what we are supposed to represent. That, kid, is why we didn't need a face."

"What do you mean...?" The 1972 him gives an exasperated sigh.

"We are supposed to represent industrialization destroying the natural environment and corporate greed destroying everything around it-which has still happened, because _no one cared a whole lot_. _I_ was that. I was that to the _fucking_ letter. _You_, however, are just a twit with mommy issues. I am an allegory, you are a punk."

"You shut up!" He burns him, again-this time on his right cheek. He grits his teeth-he won't cry out this time.

"_You_ don't talk to _me_ like that. I am your better, and you will shut up and listen to everything I have to say to you, you understand? This can get a whole lot worse if you want, you hear me, boy?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, sir!" 1972 chuckles while 2012 cries. He shakes him

"That's enough of that. Man, did they change our personality. You cry too easy. _We_ don't cry-at least, _I_ don't. You do because you're weak."

"What about you? Remember: you let your greed control you to the point of killing an entire species of tree and ruining the ecosystem of an entire area, just like me."

"Yeah, the difference is, I never really gave a fuck to begin with. You gave a fuck and only became the greedy ass we are because you were manipulated by your _mommy_ into breaking a promise we didn't even make-or rather, _I_ didn't." He takes another draw and blows the smoke out, slowly, before burning him again. "Forgot to do this right after you got mouthy." He sighs. "That's something else, there. Why are you friends with The Lorax? Nowhere are we ever friends with it." He sobs again. "Oh, not this shit, again..." 1972 mutters.

"I don't know, okay!? I don't know why I look like this, I don't know why I have a different personality or "mommy issues", I don't know why I'm friends with Mustache-" He is backhanded and falls to the floor, the initial pain and shock of phasing hitting him again and the impact against his burned cheek making the slap all the more painful.

"Don't call it that. We are _not_ friends with it. It represents nature crying out while man-that's _us_-destroys it." 2012 looks up at 1972. "Don't look at me like that, boy."

"Quit calling me "boy"..." He says, the first time 2012 has had any level of bravado in his voice.

"Why? It's what you are. You're just a _boy_. A little boy trying to stand in my shoes or, rather, _trying to wear my gloves_." 1972's eyes narrow slightly-smug. "A pretty-faced little boy made to sell tickets." He laughs. "I guess you _are_ corporate greed, kid!" He can see 2012's cheeks flush and 1972 stands, but his face stays enshrouded. "I can see it now, how those jags that designed you planned it out."

"Stop."

"_Let's give him soft features: big, bright eyes, long eye-lashes. Yeah! Let's give him soft, shiny hair, too. Hey, Steve-what colour eyes and hair is it that all the broads like these days? Oh. Blue eyes and black hair it is, then!_"

"Stop..." he whimpers.

"I'm surprised they didn't give you an obvious bludge-though you _are_ sexualized plenty of times, anyway-not to mention the brief seconds of your partial nudity as you undress in front of it. It's a wonder you weren't depicted with less clothing at various points."

"What are you talking about?"

"Throughout, you are in a number of provocative poses. Do you even see what they _did_ to us? Bent over, shaking our ass, lying on our side like that on the conveyor belt, out-right stripper pose on the girder chain. They made it so easy for them." He sees 2012's cheeks darken. He hadn't noticed that. "They may as well had you naked, on your back with a hard-on, asking to be fucked."

"Be quiet..." 1972 doesn't like this and reaches down, grabbing 2012 by his hair and pulling him up. He turns the cigar so it is near his eye.

"You say _one_ more thing to me like that, and it goes in your _eye_." He tosses him back. "Then, the icing on the cake, they made you play guitar. Why the hell did you need to play guitar? I never did. We never needed to." He laughs and says, sneering: "You _are_ corporate greed. You are Illumination's little _whore_ designed to put asses in seats. Congratulations." 2012 can't look 1972 in his eyes any longer. He knew he was right, and he felt filthy. He felt like the whore 1972 had called him.

'_I-is that all I really am...? Just a sex object made to sell tickets?_' He feels a strange tingling in his right arm, but can't see. A moment later, he is freed, but only his left arm comes around, and it tingles. He can see through it. "Wh-what is this!? What's happening to me, now?"

"Phasing. You're going back to your own world." 1972 sits back down. "Nice talking to you, kid. Really, it was a _delight_." He says, no small hint of sarcasm in his voice as 2012 phases out, returning to his own world.


End file.
